2005-01-19
El Dilemma
I've been feeling such pressing guilt and melancholy all morning, but, lost somewhere in the fog of such dreary feelings is some glimmer of bliss. And I am certain that one can guess all of this stems from my relationship, and, indeed it does.
February 14 of 2004 is still so vivid in my mind, and the images come as crystallized rays: bright, fleeting, beautiful, and clear. And when he decided that he wanted out, I convinced myself that...that was that. Fait accompli, and not much else can be done about that, because life is about progression.
And when he told me he loved me for the first time, it truly was a dream...though even the sweetest of dreams become tainted by the bitter salt of mistrust and fear: I fear my own boyfriend. I am deathly afraid of the love of my life.
I continue to pressure him and bring up The Past, without realizing that it wounds him bit by bit. The fact that he does not want to be reminded of what he did to me should be reason enough for me to let things rest. But curious, meddling children seldom leave the sleeping serpent be, now do they?
To continue with him, I need to trust him. He says things with all sincerity; he told me he trusts me...and some small voice in me cried out. In the humid catacombs behind my beating heart, something cried out, and I wanted to tell him of my...infidelity.
The formula is simple: if he loves me and trusts me, then I should live up to that. Some have a bad view of "morality", but you see...nothing matters when one is in love.
Because small part of you is complete, and you can finally go toward the Tree of Fate to the Eternal Ferry Man, who will lead you to The City of Adonis.
I have no problem saying that Alastair is the only male I want in my life--it is the truth. I do belong to him...and only him.
I still cannot figure it out--the perfect recipe,the perfect formula...for a relationship. Perfection is the state I have yet to attain!
Chopin...I told him about Chopin and the "Tristesse" Etude, and he remained silent as the words danced about my lips. Finally, he is beginning to understand that "I am more than just a dress on this ironing board" that behind everything...there is an essence, inextricably bound with my music and my writing.
So how does one go about solving this? To let time pass, I suppose...to fish silently at midnight.